Weep

by Four-Eyed Koi

The story of a lonely jester who falls for a melancholic dancer just as mad as he. Cicero&OC. OC is the Listener but not the Dragonborn.

6. A Heart for You

For those of you who didn't develop a heart condition after looking at the length of this chapter; no, you aren't mistaken. This is gonna' be a long one. I wish I could say that this was the reason for this update's delay, but it's not completely.

That aside, a few more things to go over concerning this chapter:

We're going to be doing something a little different this time. This chapter is an arrangement of moments taking place over two and a half months. It's episodic and the instances are all chronologically ordered- except for one 'thread' which will weave through the chapter to the end. So don't be confused. Secondly, I had taken some creative liberties with Liz's section of the Sanctuary. Don't get confused by that either. A warning for teeny critter abuse.

And while it has nothing to do with Cicero; I somehow heard the song "Champion" by Donora in my head the entire time I wrote this chapter.

---

Cicero tip-toed back into the Sanctuary at about an hour before midnight, holding Critare's cloth-wrapped gift in his hands. In matter of hours she was to leave the Sanctuary for her first contract, so Cicero had to hurry if he was going to have the gift ready on time.

He quickly snuck through the halls, as silent death. While he made his way to his chambers he mused over the past number of weeks in his life, trying to wrap his head around all that had happened in them.

~[•|0|•]~

"You know, dearest Mother," Cicero said as he massaged oil onto the Night Mother's palm. "The funniest thing happened yesterday- eh, not funny exactly- Cicero knows funny and what happened yesterday wasn't funny... What was it then? Odd? Strange? Unusual? Well, it was quite unusual. Critare- you know, the weeper, the Pretender's slave- listened to me. Actually listened to my jokes and-"

Cicero gasped, "And then that Pretender came in and started yammering about 'good news'... No, she did not say she was returning everyone to the old ways- I know what you were thinking- but sadly, no. So to make yesterday even stranger; the Pretender had announced that the weeper would be joining our family. As in killing- for Sithis. Cicero knows, he had thought the same thing!

"The weeper started with her training yesterday evening. Let's hope that the not-Speaker won't shame the Dark Lord by sending that Critare on a contract when she sees no improvement in the girl. Because Sithis only knows there just won't be."

~[•|0|•]~

The end of Cicero's dagger hit the target across from him with a clean thud.

After the first few bulls-eyes, he had gotten bored and just settled for lazily throwing whatever knifes and daggers he had in his little pile. No one was there to see him while he laid there, reclined on the ground as he sent blades into the heads and chests of dummies with a flick of his wrists.

He had no idea where everyone else was, save for the Pretender and her slave. They both were in the dining area.

"You useless slut!" the Pretender shouted. Cicero could just see it as the woman yelled with her face inches from Critare, who would be trying to keep her crying under control.

"When I tell you to cut something, I want you to damn well cut it! You couldn't put a tear in that dummy- you didn't even try! You're weak! You're pathetic..."

"Cicero tries to tell you so," the jester mumbled, flicking another dagger at the targets.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero bounced on his heels on top the dining table, giggling boisterously.

"... so then the knight tells the barbarian- come on! Don't you sorry gits want to know what the knight tells the barbarian?"

"No!" everyone at the table shouted at once.

"Just get down from that table and leave, Cicero, please- for the love of blood and gold! We're trying to eat dinner. In peace," the softy groaned.

Cicero rolled his eyes and skipped away to his chamber, plopping down on his bed when there.

"Guess they don't want to know what the knight says..." he muttered.

"Um..." he heard behind him, quiet and soft as the 'coo' of a dove.

He turned around to see Critare at his door, a plate of food in hand.

She looked at her feet shyly, "I wanted to hear what the knight tells the barbarian... if that's okay."

~[•|0|•]~

"But she is in-com-pe-tent. What part of that can you not get through your thick, blonde head!" Cicero shrieked.

"And she's going to learn. To improve. What part of that can you not get through your head?" the Pretender retorted, icily.

Cicero roared and left the Pretender's room, slamming the door.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero gently brushed a feather along the Night Mother's hair, trying to clean the brittle strains of dust and dirt.

"I tell you, Mother. I keep telling that not-Speaker that Critare can't be an assassin, but she just won't have it!"

~[•|0|•]~

"Shove off, clown," the Pretender groaned as she dipped a quill in ink.

"Fight me all you want about Critare; I'm not changing my mind about it. Now if you would please leave me. I have things that need to get done- important things. Why don't you go clean under that corpse's finger nails. That's something that's right in your range of skills, isn't it?"

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero grabbed at his face, holding his mouth shut. It was getting so hard for him to not laugh.

The grey-snob sighed, helping Critare properly nock another arrow on the bow string.

"Alright, now try," she said.

Criatre obeyed, loosing the arrow.

The projectile fell to the straight to the ground, Critare leaping out of it's way as it fell as though it were a fall snake. That was when Cicero couldn't contain it any longer.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero left his chambers late at night, seeking a loaf of bread or apple or something to satisfy his hunger. On the way there he spotted Critare pitifully crying, huddled up underneath a small table.

Seeing her like that triggered that familiar, unpleasant feeling in his gut again. He suddenly forgot all about his hunger and turned on his heel, scurrying back to his room.

~[•|0|•]~

"No one wants to listen to Cicero's stories- the one's about his life before he was Keeper!"

Cicero continued lamenting as he oiled Mother's ear, trying to mind the fragile skin.

"No one, except for Critare, Cicero guesses... You know, ever since the spiders- ooh! Mother, Cicero has been meaning to tell you: he has some plans for those pesky fiends which had offended you. You thought Cicero forgot all about them, but, oh- no, faithful Cicero has not forgotten! He won't tell you what it is, but Cicero has quite a surprise in mind for you, Mother!"

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero took careful aim at the target in front of him. He took a few moments to swing his arm to and fro, trying to get a feel for the steel dagger in his hand.

Finally, he raised his arm before quickily bringing it down and releasing the dagger. The dagger flew swift and straight, hitting it's intended target, a spider.

Cicero crossed over to the target, inspecting what was left of the spider.

Finding nothing, he began to tut, "No, no, no. Cicero will need much more of you all to be left behind if he is going have his surprise for Mother."

~[•|0|•]~

Critare turned to Cicero, eyes pleading.

"Can I go look at the fish, Cicero," she asked.

Both were on a walk together outside the Sanctuary. This was the fourth time Cicero had agreed to come with her outside when she had asked him. She still wasn't nearly the sort of company the jester favored having what with her constant quietness and tears, ever present- even in her moments of absent-minded passivity. But it was her lack of conversation that was worst of all to Cicero. When spoken to, she seldom would reply with a whispered statement longer than five words. Not to mention how she normally never had anything to contribute to a discussion. So boring.

Nevertheless, Cicero was spending a growing amount of his time with her. She might not have been his first choice for company, but she was still his only choice by being the only person in the Sanctuary who tolerated him. Cicero supposed it wasn't so bad. Her reluctance to speak fit considerably well with his habits for ceaseless rambling. And while she either didn't understand or like his jokes, she did want to hear them- even if her weak little laugh was so... incredibly obnoxious.

"Eh, if you must."

Critare smiled faintly and tip-toed over to the pond with her arms out, twirling around a few times on her way.

"I like fishes," she said as she stopped at the edge of the pond.

"Yes, yes," Cicero said, almost grumbling as he laid down in the grass to nap. "Just try to not fall into the water. Cicero would like to not have to dive in after you this time."

"Okay."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero looked down at the tray of spiders he was carrying with him on his way to the kitchen.

"Cicero has told the Inquisition about you," he giggled. "They know you are Talos-worshipers."

Cicero set the tray into the bread-baker, kindling the fire within.

"Prepare to burn, fiends."

~[•|0|•]~

Critare was sobbing quietly in the lobby, leaning on her broom as she wiped some tears from her face.

Cicero had been outside the room watching her, this whole time deliberating on whether or not to try... something. He couldn't bring himself to leave her. But he similarly didn't want to speak with her when she was like this, either.

He cleared his throat, catching Critare's attention.

"Err, Critare... why are you... crying?"

"Astrid yelled at me again."

"Oh..."

Cicero approached her uncomfortably. What to do? What to do?

"Uh, would Critare like to hear a joke?"

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero watched Critare as she attacked the dummies with a dagger. Well, not attack so much as slowly brush the blade against them.

He looked closely at the burlap weave of the dummy she had worked on.

"How did I do?" Critare asked carefully.

Nothing. Not a even scratch on the fabric. She may have frayed one or two stitches some.

"Um..." Cicero started, avoiding Critare's gaze.

He cleared his throat, "Cicero believes she was asking you, greeny."

Greeny glared at Cicero and turned to Critare, "Well... You are going to need more practice..."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero sat on a bench in Mother's audience room. At the moment he was scraping old wax off of her candlesticks with a dagger, letting the bits and pieces fall into a basket between his feet.

"Critare is so nice to Cicero, Mother. You really would like her. She listens and she hears and she doesn't think about people as this or that... Hmm, Cicero doesn't know how to explain it, but it's a good thing... He likes talking to her. She never, ever gets short with friendly Cicero, no. She's always so nice.

"But as nice as she is, she's hopeless, Mother! Hopeless! That girl wasn't made to kill. And none of those fools know how to train a worthy assassin... That's it! Cicero shall train Critare. After all, who was ever more competent a killer than he? With Cicero teaching her, she'll have to progress! You would have to agree with Cicero, no?"

~[•|0|•]~

Scales had left for lunch, leaving Critare to practice her form alone and Cicero with an opportunity to mentor her without any disruptions.

"Why, hello, Critare."

She smiled faintly at him, looking rather depressed. "Hi, Cicero."

"Today, Critare is going to learn how to throw a dagger."

Cicero held a blade out in front of her and made a gasp and 'ooh' sound, trying to generate her interest. By the looks of it, he wasn't successful.

"Okay," she answered nervously.

Cicero placed the dagger in her hands, "Alright," he said, "now throw it!"

Critare turned to a dummy, raising the dagger.

"No, no, no, Critare. Your form is all wrong. Here, let Cicero show you."

Once Cicero had adjusted her form, he permitted her to throw the blade when ready.

Cicero is such an effective teacher, he thought smugly. She will be trained in no time, now. Everyone shall see.

Critare looked at Cicero shyly once more. He smiled and gave her a nod of encouragement, granting her enough confidence to turn back to the dummy. She smiled faintly, swifty raising the dagger above her head.

Her grip on the dagger must have not been strong enough, because as soon as her arm was over her head, it was gone. Already flying through the air.

Backwards.

Cicero turned around, his bewildered eyes searching for where the dagger had went. It didn't take him long to find it.

The softy had been seated behind them the entire time, reading one of his many books. The dagger was now lodged in the contents of the one he held, which he slowly lowered to reveal a pair of ired eyes staring wordlessly back at them.

Cicero could feel it as Critare tried to hide herself behind him.

~[•|0|•]~

"She is going to die!" Cicero exclaimed as he slammed his fist on the Pretender's business table.

"No she won't." the Pretender hissed.

"Are you mad, woman?!"

"She just needs time, fool."

"Time? It's been twelve weeks!"

"I'm aware. But I've thought of some ways to better motivate her from this point on."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero unwrapped Critare's gift, getting to work with wiping the blood from it with a few damp cloths.

"Oh, Mother... Please tell Cicero that Critare will like what he gives her..."

~[•|0|•]~

"Cicero is so grateful Critare came with him to help gather flowers for Mother."

Critare smiled shyly, reaching down to cut a few yellow mountain flowers from their stems. The two were a few miles west of the Sanctuary, harvesting flowers at a location Critare had pointed them to.

"Um..."

"Yes, Critare?"

"You... you should leave length of stem with the blossoms when you cut them."

"Oh," Cicero looked at the cluster of stemless deathbells sitting beside him.

He cleared his throat, sweeping the heads under a bush when Critare wasn't looking.

"Cicero knew that," he chuckled.

"Um..."

"Yes, Critare?"

"Are... you sure you don't want any help making it?"

"Critare, please. It's a garland; how hard can it be?"

Critare looked down at her feet and shrugged.

~[•|0|•]~

"Critare! Critare!" Cicero screamed, bounding through the halls of the Sanctuary in search of her.

"Cri-" he stopped, sliding to a halt and reaching out for the archway which led to the room with the alchemy and enchanting tables.

He had spotted her in there. She was sitting with the un-child at a small table, looking to be in the midst of one of their little tea parties. Cicero did not care for this in the least bit, though.

"Critare," he shouted again as he ran into the room, grasped Critare by the hand and yanked her up. He didn't even give her time to fully rise to her feet before he started back off to his room, running with her in tow.

"Hey!" shouted the little monster.

"It's a disaster, Critare!" he cried.

"W-what?" she stuttered, still stumbling as she tried to keep up with him.

"The garland. Oh, Cicero is an utter fool! He has no idea at all what he's doing. See,"

He opened the door to his room, revealing a scene of twine twisted in to senseless knots, broken stems, crushed flower heads and loose petals all over his floor.

"Oh..."

"It's a mess, Cicero knows.

"Please," he took Critare's hands in his own. "Tell Cicero you will help him make the garland. He's begging you."

"Okay." she said, smiling faintly.

~[•|0|•]~

The two sat together in Cicero's room, weaving flowers and leaves into garlands under Critare's direction. This was the eleventh time Cicero had gotten her to set some of her time aside and help him construct his garland for a number of hours.

This time, Critare had brought her doll along with her and had left it sitting in her lap as she worked and listened to Cicero's chatter.

"... Had Cicero ever told Critare about the time he had killed a bride at her own wedding? He had done something extra special to do it. He had to if he were to not be suspected- or caught. All those witnesses, all watching the bride. He could have very easily been caught. Yes, weddings are tricky ones... But Cicero loves a challenge! Yes, yes!

"The groom, you see, he had a brooch of his family crest he was to wear on the special day to hold together his expensive cloak. He-he! Cicero disguised himself as a servant and paid a visit to the groom. Helped him dress for the special occassion, and just as he was helping the man get his robe on, Cicero 'accidently' pricked him with the tip of the brooch's pin. The noble was mad about it.

"But what he really should have been mad about was how Cicero had laced the tip of the pin with the essense of a Black Marsh frog he had managed to get his hands on. The red-eyed squatting frog. Cicero had heard of it long before from a helpful Argonian trader. Ooh, yes. The tiny beasts are rarely consumed in their country because they've been known to have certain toxins in their meat which cause uncontrollable violence when mingled in the bloodstream with wine.

"Ho-ho! It was so good. As soon as the two had said their vows, they shared a little wine and wham! There the fool was knocking his wife to the floor and beating her broken skull into the pretty marble tiles. Oh, no one suspected honest Cicero. They didn't suspect anyone! The perfect wedding kill- everyone had said so once Cicero had told them about how it went! Oh, they all had been so impressed by it. ' 'Inspiring work, brother!' 'Genius, as always, Cicero!'

"Ah, Cicero had loved those times. But what does Critare think? She must think that it was ingenious too now, hmm?"

"I do," she answered with a small smile, turning her attention to the baby doll in her lap.

"Um..."

"Yes, Critare?"

"I was wanting to ask if..."

"Go on."

"If you could spare a flower or two... I was wanting to make a flower crown for my baby. I- I'd only need two or three- if that's alright."

Cicero chuckled, looking at her fondly.

"Why, of course. Critare may take as many flowers as she likes. Mother has far more flowers by now than what can fit in her audience room."

Critare smiled and reached over to pick a few blue mountain flowers from their basket on the ground. Cicero watched quietly as she positioned them over her doll's head, figuring out the arrangement of the crown. For a moment all he could think of was how she handled the thing with so much tenderness and care. She must have felt a real love for it.

"Cicero is intrigued by how much care Critare takes in keeping her doll. Tell Cicero, is this the first time Critare has cared for a doll?"

Critare shrugged, frowning sadly while staring away at the floor.

"I used to have another baby," she said, softer and quieter than what was usual, even for her. "She was blue. But they took her away from me."

"Oh..."

Cicero looked away, trying to find something to lift Critare's sudden melancholy.

"Oh! Look, Critare! We only have another foot to go until we have finished our garland for the Night Mother! Critare had been such a wonderful help. So skilled. So talented. Mother will truely love what she's done for her. Truely!"

Critare nodded and Cicero wasn't able to tell if her small smile had more to do with her characteristic shyness or an attempt to feign happiness.

"You're almost done?" they heard a little half-pint monster Cicero knew and loathed exclaim.

They both turned to see the un-child standing in the doorway with her little hands on her hips as she glared at Cicero as if she thought could scare him. She didn't.

"Finally!" she said as she marched over to Critare and took her hand, tugging it. The movement was more a sign for her to rise to her feet.

"Hey!" said Cicero as she watched the little monster pull Critare to her feet. "Cicero still needs Critare!"

"Shut up, Cicero! You've used all her free time this week- and last. I wanna' turn, now!

"Well," Cicero rose to his feet. Critare was already standing, hand held by the little blood-sucker. "The little monster must find someone else to play house with, then! Cicero needs Critare and he won't let imps take her!"

Critare looked back and forth between the two, seeming exceptionally stressed by her situation.

"Nuh-uh! You only have one foot left. You can do that on your own. It's my turn now!" she spat before leading Critare out his door.

This wasn't over.

Cicero followed after then, "Hey! Get back here!"

~[•|0|•]~

"It's a dagger, fool," snapped scales. "There's a reason they put a hilt on it."

"Just because a weapon is made a certain way is no excuse for not getting a little... innovative," Cicero retorted, wagging a finger at the Argonian.

"Creativity, hmm? Only when using a weapon as it was intended to be used, can you explore all the possibilities in which it can be truely implemented. You of course wouldn't understand seeing that you've never studied swordplay."

"Oh, so now we're talking about swords? Cicero thought we had been discussing daggers."

"No, we had been 'discussing' what a total waste it is to throw them!"

"It is not a waste!"

The two went on arguing as Critare watched uneasily, wondering when one of her trainers was going to start instructing her.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero covered his mouth to dampen his giggles as he snuck into the lobby, his sights set on the dog sleeping by his forge.

He bent over the sleeping hound, chuckling as he slipped his hand in his pocket to take out the cloth which held the spider within it's folds. Unfolding the cloth, he carefully picked the little wriggling beast up with two fingers. The jester held it out, trying to poise it over the dog's open mouth just right.

Cicero needed all the spiders he had for his gift to Mother... but he had supposed that he could afford to lose just one...

He dropped the spider, watching breathlessly as it fell into the dog's mouth- and was chewed up in an instant. The doggy stirred some but did not wake.

Cicero howled with laughter, leaving the lobby now that his fun was over.

Priceless.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero sat with the other Sanctuary members at the dining table for their morning meal. He was gradually beginning to behave more tolerably around them so he would be allowed to eat his meals with Critare.

Cicero had been sitting at the table, bored and doing his best to restrain himself from joining any of the conversations as he ate. Sithis only knew the moment he spoke he was going to be kicked out of the room. That was until the Pretender walked in like she owned the place... which, Cicero supposed she did in a way.

"Alright," she said, catching everyone's attention. "I have an announcement."

She held a folded piece of paper out to Critare, who was at the stove, filling the dog's plate with his fourth serving of food.

"What is it?" she whispered, taking the paper from her mistress.

"Your first contract. The date's been set. You're to leave this Sanctuary in forty days to kill Erendriel, the Bosmer woodcutter turned Companion."

"Oh..." Critare nodded stiffly, looking paralyzed with fear.

"Why forty?" softy asked.

"Why at all?!" Cicero exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

The Pretender only ignored him, "Because our contract is aiming for something more... spontaneous. A certain timing which won't leave others to suspect him. After all, the elf is a mercenary."

"Not just a mercenary," said the mutt. "A Companion, Astrid."

The Pretender rolled her eyes, "Werewolves. No werewolves. Doesn't really make a difference when you kill the elf while he's alone and away from Jorvaskrr, does it?"

The mutt grunted and went back to his food.

"You're sending her on a contract involving werewolves?!" Cicero shouted. "She might die. Don't you see that?"

"Get out, Cicero. I'd like to eat in peace for once, thank you."

"At least let Cicero come with Critare! He could keep her safe and protected- should anything go wrong."

"And let everyone spot a very peculiar maniac wearing a jester's get-up in the area with her around the time of the death? No. You're going to stay here, with precious Mother, instead."

"No, Cicero will go with Critare! Otherwise, Critare will come back in pieces!"

"Get out, Cicero."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero walked through the halls, looking for Critare. He was in one of his bored moods and figured that he might as well entertain himself by speaking with the girl. He finally found her on her pile of hay in the lobby, small lengths of different fabrics around her and a spool of thread and needle in her lap. This looked interesting.

"Ooh," he said, squatting down next to her. "What is it that Critare is doing now? Tell Cicero, he's ever curious."

Critare looked up at him and smiled faintly.

"I'm making clothes for my baby. She has none."

Cicero laid himself down on his belly, proping his head up in his hands.

"Oh, but doesn't Critare need to have her doll for that? Where is it?"

Critare frowned for some reason Cicero couldn't fathom.

"No. I know my baby... And- and Astrid took her away... I'm not doing good enough with my training."

"Oh."

"Um..."

"Yes, Critare?" Cicero giggled. He had a hard time not finding many of Critare's habits endearing now. It was always 'um' or 'if that's okay' with everything. So adorable. And her little dove's-coo voice was so pretty. Everything always so soft.

It had actually been growing more loud, as of late. Only by a hair or two, but still.

"I- I was wanting to ask you..."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to go to the market in Falkreath in a few days to recieve the recipe for your mother's oil. I wanted to ask if you would come with me, you know... Since it was for your mother."

"Why, of course, Critare. Cicero would be delighted."

~[•|0|•]~

Critare sobbed, laying her head on Cicero's shoulder as the jester stroked her back comfortingly. The not-Speaker had screamed at her again.

He was beginning to sort out what jokes she liked and those she didn't. And he well understood now that anything involving death or harm were usually not liked. Which pretty much excluded everything in his repertoire. Luckily he had also learned that she enjoyed listening to talk about certain topics, like animals or flowers. She particularly liked fish.

"You know, jolly Cicero used to have a pet rat. A good little rat, brown like Cicero's hair. You would have liked him. He had the cutest way of eating cheese. Just nibbling it all over with his fat, wee cheeks. Such a good boy. Never bit. And so smart. Cicero had even taught him to sneak keys through small holes, just incase he was ever imprisoned..."

He went on, relaxing the more he saw Critare calm down.

~[•|0|•]

"But Astrid must allow Cicero to come along! Critare will die if no one is there to help her and you know it!"

"Damn it, Cicero. Do you ever let up?! You're not going. I forbid it," exclaimed the Pretender.

Cicero narrowed his eyes, making a rare choice to lower his voice.

"It does not matter what the not-Speaker says. Cicero will go with Critare and will protect her."

The Pretender looked at him, eyes blazing.

"Go with her and I will light that corpse of your's ablaze!"

"You would not dare!" Cicero roared, rising to his feet.

"Oh, yes I would. She's nothing but a corpse- the ugly relic of a dead cult! She's obsolete-"

"Silence!" he roared, running from the room. Running from the Sanctuary.

Once outside he let himself scream like the madman he was and assulted the bark of a tree with his dagger until he collapsed on the ground, panting. He laid his head against the abused tree and thought.

He couldn't come with Critare. The Pretender meant it when she said she was going to harm Mother in his absence. But Critare would surely die all on her own on her contract without him near. The thought of losing either of them was unbearable.

What was he to do?

~[•|0|•]~

"Oh, Mother," Cicero said as he worked over the contraption before him, using the tip of his dagger to carve a hole into the corner of a wooden board.

"Cicero is distressed. Critare is to leave for her first contract in twenty-nine days and she cannot even swing a dagger. She is not ready, nor will she ever be. And Cicero cannot leave with her to watch over her... Not without abandoning you to the stu-pid, spite-ful, hor-rid clutches of that dreadful 'Speaker'! Cicero hates that one with every fiber of his being. If he could, he would strike her down without a second's deliberation. He hates her... He hates her... But he cannot send her worthless soul to Sithis for he has not the authority. No, no. Cicero is only Keeper so he may not-"

Cicero bit his tongue, stopping himself before he carried on any further with his grievance.

"Mother," he pleaded, "when shall you make Cicero your Listener? You know Cicero's heart. You know his love and devotion to you. Cicero swears, Mother, that when he is your Listener you shall never be in want for Cicero shall fill and deliver every longing of your heart... But he only needs you to tell him..."

Cicero placed his project down and drew himself closer to the sarcophagus, placing his hand on the aged stone-work. He his guesture, his tone, it all was ringing with a miserable sort of pleading, uncharacteristic to him.

"When will you finally speak to him? How long must we wait for guidence. Cicero... Cicero has grown... unhappy waiting. He waits though. He waits to hear your voice, and he'll wait forever if that is what you know is best to do..."

Cicero looked down at his lap quietly for a few moments, lost in thought. Then finally, he actually paid attention to what he had in his lap and spotaneously burst into chuckles.

"Look, dear Mother," he smiled as he held his project up in front of her sarcophagus. "Cicero is making a little something for you. Not a something that involves the spiders- but another surprise that is totally different. Cicero hopes that it help can solve the issue with Critare- granted he finishes it in time for her to leave.

"You know, Cicero likes Critare. He thinks though that Critare might not like him. At least not as much as Cicero likes her. Critare just doesn't smile at Cicero as much as he does her, you see. Hmm, now to fix this... Cicero will have to figure something out. And quick. She's going to leave in twenty-nine days!"

Cicero threw is arms up, feeling another wave of anxiety tumble through his gut.

"Oh, Mother, what is Cicero going to do?!"

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero and Critare passed under the arches to Falkreath at an early hour. The air was cool and crisp, the fog common to the hold made a tad thicker due to the autumn season into which the year had already passed. Today, the atmosphere had a haunting note to it, putting Cicero's high spirits only higher.

He had hooked his arm though Critare's, forcing her to keep up with him as he skipped them half-way to the inn, humming a merry tune.

The citizens and guards had looked all at them quizzically, so Cicero assumed they must have not known they were- what could he say- friends, until now.

Having Critare with him sure did seem to put the people at ease when jolly Cicero walked by, though. They seemed skeptical of him at first, probably trying to figure out in their heads how they could reach Critare for whatever in the Dark Lord's name they wanted from her without coming within ten feet of Cicero. But that would not be the case for those of them. Cicero wasn't going anywhere outside one foot of Critare.

"Here we are!" Cicero sang once they were outside Dead Man's Drink inn.

Critare nodded, shyly stepping through the door Cicero held open for her.

"Well, look who it is! What a nice surpise it is to see you, again," the words of the Inn's greeter, a woman, lost their delightful tone shortly after Cicero stepped though the door.

He smiled at the woman, who just cleared her throat and fixed her apron.

"It's nice to see you, Critare and... um..."

"Cicero!" the jester answered, jumping up then hitting the floor in a deep bow.

"Ah, yes! Cicero," she sputtered nervously. "Uh, it's very nice to see you here too... again."

No, it wasn't, Cicero knew. But, eh, not everyone could appreciate his style of humor. What was he to do about it?

Critare smiled at the woman, nodding her head in a shy return of her greeting.

"H-has anyone arrive to-to see... me?" she asked in her usual low volume.

"Yes, actually, there is. That one over there in all the leather. Got here just last night."

"Thank you, Valga," Critare whispered, as Cicero walked them off to the table they were pointed at.

As they neared the table, Cicero's mood began to foul. But it was when the man had shouted a greeting and lifted his tankard while smiling at Critare in an act of friendly acknowledgement, that Cicero finally knew that he did not like him. Not one bit.

At a glance there wasn't much difference between the two; the stranger was taller but they both had similar unkept brown hair which fell to a similar length. But then there were the man's arms: lean and light packed with muscle. Of course Cicero's arms were equally as thick, but Critare didn't know that, did she? Then there was the case of his face: gruffly bearded and perfectly manly. Perhaps Cicero should start trying to grow a beard... definitely wouldn't ever have the masculine Nord chin and jaw. No, he was Imperial. Then there were his perfect stature and perfectly broad shoulders. Oh, and let us not forget his perfectly deep voice, far different from Cicero's... odd one.

Cicero just wanted to take a club to his perfect teeth.

"Good to see you, Critare," the man said once they were both seated across from him.

"Hi, Vipir," Critare replied neutrally. Cicero might have been gladdened by her reaction to seeing him had this sort of passivity been the norm for her- all the time! There was no telling what she was thinking about this strange and admittedly better looking man.

Cicero began to anxiously circle a finger around a small space of the table.

"Who's this?" the man asked.

Cicero raised his chin at the man, "I am Cicero. And you would be?"

"Uh, I would be Vipir... Er, Cri and I both knew eachother growing up in... Nevermind."

He cleared his throat and looked at half-empty tankard in front of him, looking somewhat shaken by the menacing glare Cicero had been giving him.

He knew Critare both knew eachother? While growing up? That was a long, long time to have known someone. They could be acquaintences. They could be friends. They could be- Cicero couldn't stop himself from thinking it- lovers. And he even had a little name for her; Cri. Ugh, Cicero was presently having a hard time keeping his temper from boiling over.

"Hmpf, well carry on then, Vipir." Cicero scowled.

"Then, let's just get right to this," he said, reaching into a pocket of his armor.

Strange, that armor. Leather. So many pouches and buckles. Cicero could have sworn that he knew it from somewhere.

"Here's the recipe for that blend of oil you needed," he handed her a piece of folded paper.

"It wasn't hard to get... was it?" Critare asked carefully.

"A little-"

"It was? I'm so sorry-" Critare looked at him worriedly.

"It wasn't that bad, Critare. Don't sweat it, alright? Just bit of a trip, really. Had to go all the way to Morrowind to find it. You wouldn't imagine what people are willing to do to protect their secret formula for an embalming oil."

Critare nodded, sitting back but not looking at all reassured.

Cicero leaned back in his chair haughtily, "Hmpf. Critare should have asked Cicero to go, instead. He wouldn't have been troubled by such a trip in the least."

Vipir looked both offended by Cicero's words, albiet a little skeptical of them, but said nothing concerning it. He merely looked at the jester oddly before looking back at Critare, who was placing a large pouch of gold on the table in front of Vipir.

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Critare," he said, pushing the coin pouch back to her side of the table.

"But you need compensation."

"Not this time."

Ooh, Cicero thought acidly, how noble of him!

His specific choice of words set a train of thought quickly in motion, and in moment he had identified the armor 'Vipir' wore. A thief. He was a thief. A wee pawn from that washed-up band of pocket-pickers in Riften. Ha! Cicero only knew this because that Pretender had brought one into the Sanctuary to do some business once during the period before Critare's stummbling upon the Sanctuary. Needless to say it had infuriated him, her mixing their business with the likes of thieves! They were the Dark Brotherhood! The powerful. The mysterious. The sovereign! The deliverers of souls lain down in the Void- a force to be reckoned with! They had no need for thieves. How could they be sovereign and powerful if they needed help from outsiders to even stay afloat? How could they think of themselves as mysterious and exclusive, much less secured by the veil of secrecy, if they allowed others to know of them and their ways and yet live?

It had all been a source of extreme bitterness between faithful Cicero and the blasphemous not-Speaker. A Brotherhood which allowed the Thieves Guild to be involved with it's business had actually been the topic of the very first argument between the two.

Aside from the Pretender though, Cicero had always had the smallest contempt for thieves. They had always been irrelevant to his life, so he never had a real reason to hold them in comtempt, see. He merely saw them as shadow-walkers whose skills were either too poor for the level of talent required for a dark brother or that were good enough for the Brotherhood, but absent of the nerves to do it.

Looking at this 'Vipir', Cicero was beginning to wonder why he had not held a religious disdain for them in them past. It seemed clear now that they had always deserved it. And he wasn't just going to let this cheap sneak go and charm his Critare!

"Oh..." Critare said, moving the pouch to her left disappointedly.

"Are you sure-"

"Gods' curse it all!" Vipir laughed, "Yes, I'm sure! I don't want you to pay me. This was a favor... done as... a friend, see?" He said it so oddly, almost nervously...

He had to have likings for Critare, otherwise there was just no explanation for his odd behavior. Thieves didn't just give up a chance to snatch a fat purse of septims. That much Cicero knew of their ways.

"Alright..." Critare said, twiddling her fingers together.

The thief began to carefully ask Critare about what she had done after she had left some 'row' place, Cicero really wasn't paying attention. The whole time they talked, Critare continued to stare down at her fingers.

Cicero narrowed his eyes at the thief; now was his chance to have his word with him.

Taking advantage of their distractions, Cicero knocked the coin pouch onto the floor with a small jerk of his elbow. Only once Critare was below the top of the table, picking up the coins spilt across the floor, did Cicero act. He quicly stood, leaning over the table and planting his hands firmly on it either side of Vipir.

"Think you're so special, hmmm, thief?" he said, lowly so Critare wouldn't hear. "'Ooh, look at me, I take things out of people's pocket while they're still alive and breathing! Aren't I special?' Well, Cicero knows just how special you all are. You say you don't kill because then you'd get a 'reputation', but Cicero knows that it's really because you're just a bunch of big chickens!"

Cicero was going to continue, but sensed that his time was up with the thief and moved to sit himself back down. He managed to land back in his seat with his elbows bent on the table, propping his head on top his hands, just as Critare rose back into her seat with the gathered coin pouch.

If Critare noticed anything unusual- like Vipir's sudden bewildered and uneasy demeanor after receiving such a loony rant- she didn't show it. Something about the table did feel odd to her though, and she turned her gaze to Cicero. The jester, looking a little too casual, removed a hand from under his chin to wriggle the fingers at Critare, telling her to continue with what she had been saying before.

As the two went back to their conversation, Cicero fumed. He didn't even get to tell the fool he was to stay away from Critare from now on, or he'd cut his fingers off. Couldn't pick a lock without those, now could he?

Sooner than later, the two stopped speaking.

"And if you ever need anything ever again, Cri..." Vipir said, pulling Cicero out of his vexation. "Uh, just don't be afraid to get in touch with me. I'll always be in the Ratway."

"Alright," Critare said, but by the way she frowned Cicero knew she had no intention of ever 'bothering' him to do something again.

Vipir made a nod of farewell to Critare, choosing to ignore Cicero, and instead walk straight back to his room.

Critare looked to Cicero, eyes asking if he knew the reason for the man's sudden behavior. Cicero merely shrugged and asked if she was ready to go.

~[•|0|•]~

The two had left the inn and were about half way along the road leading out of the city when they were stopped suddenly by a pack of half-lings and their dog.

"Shoo, half-lings," said Cicero, pressing on. "Cicero and Critare have no time for your little foolish business."

He detected a slight hitch in one of Critare's steps, an indication she wanted to stay and chat with the little half-pints. Cicero rolled his eyes, but it was what Critare wanted to do. What was another few minutes of his time to him?

Cicero unhooked Critare's arm from his and watched as she and the children approached eachother. A few of the half-ling girls twirled in circles, trying to mimic Critare's eccentric dance- as if they could. She complimented their form anyways and began talking half-ling nonsense with them, somehow not dying of boredom while doing it.

Well, Cicero most certainly was just having to hear it. He turned his attention away from their group, searching for something to engage his interest.

Unfortunately for him, all he found when he had turned around was a half-ling boy looking right up at him.

"My mommy says I'm not allowed to talk to you."

"Pfft! Your 'mommy' is a pock-marked crone which will die of brain-rot if that band of fat wrapped around her belly doesn't smother her vital organs, first."

"Mommy!" the boy ran away, distressed.

Well, that was easily taken care of.

"That's right, run away before Cicero... cuts off your mother's ears and nails them to a door or something."

Cicero suddenly heard the gasp of a woman to his right, and so turned his head that direction. He thought it was better to just let himself have low expectations for what he was about to see. Steel himself for more disapointment. But what he saw was actually pretty good.

Spectacular, even!

When Cicero turned he saw a pair, one boy and one girl, standing together in the alleyway of two small buildings. The boy had just presented the girl with some box, whose contents Cicero could not see, but understood were the cause of the girl's gasp and excitement. The girl embraced her companion, grinning ear to ear.

Cicero's eyes widened.

He hurried back to Critare, taking her by the hand as he sped out of town, pulling her along with him.

"Good-bye, everyone," Critare said, keeping up with Cicero as she was far used to this kind of spontaneous behavior from the jester by now.

"Can we stop to see the fishes on the way back home, please?" she asked once the children had made their own farewell's to her.

"Of course," Cicero laughed boisterously. "Of course, we can, my Critare!"

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero ran into the Night Mother's audience room, sliding to a stop just in front of her sarcophagus.

"Cicero has found it, Mother!" he panted, smiling at the closed coffin.

"Cicero knows what he will do for Critare! He will give her a gift and then she will squeal with delight and embrace Cicero- or not! Either way, Critare will like it- and him... Agh, but what to get her?"

Cicero slid to the floor, thinking.

"Cicero could make a song for her. He is very good at making songs- ooh! And then he could serenade Critare with the song accompanied by a lute- er, maybe not the lute- but still he will serenade her!"

Cicero fell back onto the floor, finally allowing himself to catch his breath as he put lyrics together.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero took the handful of bee larvae and other little bugs he had found in Babette's alchemical stores and slowly dropped them into the jar, little by little.

He watched as the remaining spiders scrambled to get their webs around them, smirking.

"Don't mistake this as a gesture of appeasement," he chuckled. "No, Cicero has certainly not forgiven any of you for your crimes. Nor will he ever."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero ran the flat edge of his dagger against a small stone, not aware that his movements to sharpen the blade were causing it more harm than good by this point

He was to focused on watching Critare and scales talk casually across the room from him.

"Stupid greeny... Cicero would be a better teacher, but no. Miss Pretender wants all the sloths to do it... Lazy, no good, wussy thinks he's so much better than Cicero. Hmpf... Cicero will show him..."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero moaned to himself, lying on a bench in Mother's audience room late one night.

"What rhymes with 'blood' that still good? No, sud or mud... Ugh... Dumb idea anyways... Critare doesn't usually like things with killing... Maybe a little song about squirrels? Hmm, maybe not... But many things rhyme with fish. Yes, maybe a song about fish will work. Oh, Cicero hopes it works... Only fifteen more days..."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero sat at the table in his room, trying once again to piece together lyrics. His arms were out over the table, propping his head up as he thought.

Somehow he just couldn't imagine singing a song to Critare about fishes who all adored, admired, or cared for the woman without it being tasteless or simply... overdone. But at the same time it seemed to be the only topics which were doubtless appropriate to her interests.

"Ohh!"

Cicero slumped forward in his chair, cradling his head in his arms.

"It's just no use... Cicero cannot make a song for Critare! He must do something else but he needs to know just what... only fourteen more days before she goes..."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero gently trimmed any remaining fat or rugged edges from his to Critare gift. It had to look perfect! He had made quick progress on it and hoped he would continue that way. Only a little longer now and she would be leaving...

~[•|0|•]~

"Cicero would like to thank the wizened old wizard once more for all his assistance with the spiders," Cicero smiled sincerely as he examined the blacked wire lined with a dozen or so dead spiders in his hands.

Minutes before, he had quickly stuck them all on the stiff wire- and at the abdomen to unsure they wouldn't die too soon- before coming to the wizard who gave the beasts a few tiny shocks with him magic, as Cicero had arranged for earlier.

"He will not forget his service today," Cicero continued. "And neither will Mother."

The old wizard grumbled, "Well, when you had told me yesterday that you wanted to use my talents with magic to electrocute some defilers of the Night Mother's sarcophagus, of course I was more than willing to help. Only I hadn't exactly expected... little spiders. But I promised to do it... So there it is."

"Oh, the wizard shouldn't feel so insulted," Cicero chastised playfully, making the old man roll his eyes. "Desecrators and heretics are desecrators and heretics, no matter how small they might be. If only you had seen what they had been doing to Mother before Cicero finally opened her coffin... Oh, you would understand."

The wizard then sighed, "Now, now, I never was complaining so don'tngo talking like I was. I still think the Night Mother must be shown the utmost respect, such as you do. And if you say some jar of spiders offended her, then I guess, as Keeper, I can respect your opinion. I just was expecting people, that's all... It's been a long time since I've heard some screams and smelt some burning flesh."

"Oh, Cicero understands in that case! Deaths for him have been too few and far between. How he misses the thrill of the kill. But no need to be so down. Didn't you see the way the little fiends helplessly writhed when they died oh, so slowly?"

Cicero held the wire up to the old man's face, "Cicero could just hesr it too, their little screams. 'Help me! Eeee! Save me! We're so sorry, for what we did Cicero!'

"And now you've paid the price, fiends!"

The wizard scrunched his nose and pushed the wire out of his face.

~[•|0|•]~

"You dull, lazy, talentless lizard," Cicero spat at the Argonian. "All you've ever done is swing an elongated knife through the air once or twice in fancy manners- you assume Cicero is going to be impressed?! Try building a trap or something else unique!"

It was long after dinner and the two just couldn't seem to drop the argument they had gotten into, staying in the kitchen until near midnight, bickering.

"Unique?" greeny smirked. "Is that what you call all those old assassinations of your's? Avalanches. Frenzy poisoning without traces left in cups or visible wounds. Replacing real locks with fixed ones that spring poisoned needles. Oh, yes, I know. Critare tells me all about them. And to me it just seems like a great way to lose business. What's the point in killing, if all your work only ever looks like an accidental death?

"And, hey, if that was how everyone back in Cyrodiil was doing it, then it's no real wonder no one seems to think we're relevent anymore. You can't blame them when they can't accredit our work to us?"

Cicero let out a wordless roar, too angry to argue any further. He threw a tankard at the lizard- who smugly dodged the projectile- before storming out of the dining area.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero scoffed, still stewing as he wiped he the stain glass of Sithis behind Mother's place in the audience room.

It had been hours since his argument with the Pretender and her lizard and softy, and he was still stewing.

"... That greeny sure does think he's so special just because he's shadowscale... Oh, sure, flinging blades around is impressive enough until you think about Cicero! Him? Why he is a puppet-master! All he would ever have to do was pull a string and they'd be done and the rest would come, screaming- just as he had wanted. He had control over his kills. He was the most like death! So of course they kick him out. Ban him from Critare's training. It's because they're all jealous- that's why! They can't admit he's better- so they have to try and make him unseen so they don't see their own incompetencies!

"Well, scales may try as he likes, but Critare will never choose his scaled hide over Cicero. So, he can act all smug and think he's better than him because of his smooth and even mannered ways-"

Cicero raised his fist, about to strike the glass.

He didn't know what had stopped him from doing it- he had felt the rage boiling in him so strong. But he didn't strike.

He shut his eyes tightly and breathed. Relaxing himself and he let out his breath and opened his eyes.

"Cicero... ought to think of something else..."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero looked at the needle and spool of thread he had found in the kitchen minutes ago, probably left behind by Critare when she had been called by the Pretender to practice reading with the big softy. He had picked them up, intending to return them to her, but his thoughts carried him to his chamber instead.

Now he found himself staring at the objects on his table, wondering if it was worth a shot to try and make some small clothing for Critare's baby doll. It seemed like a more than suitable gift to impress Critare with and he had to do something soon as he only had twelve days left... All he had with him were old stained cloths... But he knew where the grey-snob kept her dyes. He could probably mask the stains... Make a little hat or pair of boots and cloak for the little thing.

How hard could it be?

Cicero reached for the spool and thread.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero sighed sadly, looking down at his sore fingertips. They were frightfully swollen and red from the multitude of pin-pricks he had inflicted on himself hours ago. Accompanying the inflammation was the sticky blood, which he had at first been too impatient to wipe up. Later on was when, after additional pricks, the pain had become too acute to pick up a cloth. Much less touch anything else...To make matters worse, he had switched the hand he held the needle in halfway through his attempt... hoping he'd have better control with it. Of course he told none of this to the un-child, though.

She was positively annoyed, chastising poor Cicero as she picked through her chest, gathering the things necessary to treat his injury. Cicero simply sat dejectedly in his chair, not really wanting to listen to the little monster.

"... I mean, come on. Did you ever even think to wear a thimble? Or at least to stop at some point? Why were you even sewing?"

"Cicero would rather not tell."

"In that case, I don't want to know. What I just don't understand is how you managed to prick yourself so many times and so deep."

"Um..." Cicero started.

He had been so nervous. He didn't shake at any point, mind you- but he had been too focused on his task to often realize it when he had stuck himself. His lack of patience didn't help either, as his growing frustration with the project only caused him to move quicker, to push the needle through the fabric more violently. He didn't even know how he had ended up several times with an incomprehensible mess of knotted, tangled thread in a jumble of bloodied cloth. He thought he had been thinking up different solutions to the problems.

A number of moments had already passed, and Cicero had still not answered the un-child.

She rolled her eyes at him and sighed.

"Ugh. Only you, Cicero."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero followed Critare as she went to the kitchen.

It had been a long day of training for her and he was eager to finally have his moment to spend time with her while she prepared dinner for the Sanctuary. It had been quite a long day for him too, what with his failed attempts to sew something for Critare's doll and the embassing injuries which resulted. The little monster had finished wrapping them with a bandage a few hours ago, telling him she was going to brew a little potion to help his fingers heal faster before making a small remark about what an idiot he was. In the mean time, she had given him a few tiny bottles of pain-relievers which he was to drink from once every two or so hours. He had put his gloves back on once she was done with him to hide his humiliation.

"Once again, Cicero is on the search for a gift for his friend..."

"What was that, Cicero?" Critare asked.

"Nothing. Nothing," he cleared his throat. "What is Critare making for supper, tonight?"

"Venison stew."

"Ooh! Cicero's favorite."

Critare nodded, smiling.

Once the two had reached the kitchen, they both went to their separate tasks: Critare to cutting ingredient and Cicero to mulling over gift ideas as he watched her cook. Some time had passed before Cicero was pulled out of his pondering by the sight of Critare about to lift an enormous couldron of boiling water off a fire.

"Critare, wait!" he shouted, making her jump as she turned to look at him.

He ran to her side, "Allow Cicero. He does not want for for you to get hurt."

An image of the greeny lifting a heavy load of firewood for Critare a few days ago came to his mind. And suddenly Cicero felt a burning resolve to ensure that she knew just what feats of real strength he was capable of.

"This little pot is nothing for strong Cicero," he added.

"Alright..." she said, backing away to give him room.

"So," he said, moving to grasp it. "What would Critare like Cicero to do with this once he lifts it for her?"

"Ci- Cicero, I didn't need-"

Cicero hadn't been paying attention to what she had been saying, though; promptly taking the handles of the cauldron in his grasp and beginning to lift it.

He had completely forgotten about the pain-relievers he was long since due to take.

In an instant, the intense pain shot through his finger and traveled up his arms. He yelped, dropping the cauldron. But the tub didn't land right back onto it rack properly and instead fell to the floor, taking the rack with it and spilling the boiling contents all over the floor. And Cicero.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero sat at the kitchen table, watching Critare cook with his head laid on the table.

She had only been meaning to throw ingredients into the pot as it turned out.

After he howled in pain, everybody had came rushing in demanded to know what had just happened. Critare explained. Everyone laughed at poor Cicero. The Pretender snapped for Critare to return to her cooking. The un-child treated his burns after telling him how lucky he was that he had made a batch of medical tonics much larger than what was necessary for his fingers.

Oh, and the Pretender had banned him from ever doing anything at the stove or counters again.

Cicero sighed, running his finger over a knot in the table.

"Ciceo is such a fool," he quietly pouted.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero reached for his jar of now deceased spiders.

He already had the red and black dyes laid out, along with the array of old rags, now all he needed were the bodies.

After removing his gloves, he got right to work with dipping the remains of the fiends into the dyes and then lying them down on the rags to dry. With the dark brown ones, he saw that they were submerged in the black dye. On the other hand, the rarer white ones were treated with the red dye.

He had to get those colors nice and bright!

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero and Critare sat on the floor, leaning their backs against the wall opposite the one occupied by Mother's sarcophagus in the audience room. Cicero had a book, The Mystery of Princess Talara Vol. 3, laid out on his lap and Critare had her head laid on Cicero's shoulder, listening as he read to her. This had become a favorite pass time for the two, reading books together.

But as much as Cicero liked spending time with Critare, he found the material in these storybooks to be a bit, eh... lacking. So, naturally he fixed this issue with a just a dash of his own creative genius.

"And galloped at full speed westward. 'I thought you were an ambassador, not a mage!' laughed the Gyna woman. 'I believe there are times for diplomacy,' laughed Lord Strale... 'Shame!' cackled Gyna, stabbing Strale in the back and throwing his body off the horse-"

"Wait," Critare said softly. "But I don't remember that happening when Babette read the story to me."

"Uh... Well, that was because Babette was reading Critare another version of the story. The bad one. This one Cicero reads is the good one."

"Oh."

And Critare laid her head back on Cicero's head as the jester continued with his story.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero sat- quietly- with Critare and the softy as they went over the details of Critare's contract. She had only eight more days to go before she left, and the not-Speaker wanted to be sure her slave was prepped on all the details. After all, while she and the softy had been working to address her illiteracy with daily reading sessions, she wasn't going to be able to refer to her contract to re-check details once she was out there.

"Alright," said softy, "Now describe to me what your target looks like."

Critare took a short breath before reciting all the information, "Erendriel is a bosmer with olive skin, wholly black eyes, an atypically large nose, and has his head completely shaven except for a band of hair across his scalp which he likes keeping cropped short and raised up. He normally wears white war paint on his face. Has a piercing in his left ear. Wears only light armor. Never travels without an axe."

This was why Cicero was so interested in sitting in at this session. He had never heard Critare say so much all at once in all his time of ever knowing her.

"Very good, now give me whatever additional information you can about him."

Critare nodded, "Does not follow the green-pact. Clumsy, but skilled and capable in combat situations. Known for having an easy-going and non-hostile personality. A Companion for two years. Frequently fulfills hirings alone. If target is wearing a ring, be sure to remove it once the contract is fulfilled. Mind acute hearing and sense of smell. Be cautious of target's experience in combat if confrontation is decided upon."

The softy yawned, "Well, it looks like you've got this all rehearsed now. We'll be sure to go over it again before you go, but for now go tell Astrid your ready for your next order of business."

Critare nodded and left the room. Cicero watched her go before moving to stand when he caught sight of the softy out of the corner of his eye. Glaring daggers and knifes at good, well-behaved Cicero.

Cicero looked back at the softy. What had he done? Cicero thought back on the whole session. He knew that the softy absolutely loathed jesters, as well as many of Cicero's... habits. But it made no sense since he had been so good. He didn't even make a peep. Not one. No jokes. No humming. No rhymes. No dances. No fidgeting. No tapping his feet or fingers. No noises whatsoever.

No, Cicero had been good, good, good.

So why was the softy looking at Cicero as if he would snap his neck if he so much as broke eye contact with him.

One moment. Two moments... Thirteen moments later.

Still glaring silently.

Cicero was beginning to feel himself shrink under the merciless gaze.

"Ci- Cicero shall go now..." he said lowly, slowing getting himself up.

He inched out of the room at a snail's pace, never once daring to turn his eyes away from the redgaurd until out of the room and out of sight.

~[•|0|•]~

The sewing didn't work, so maybe this time whittling would.

Cicero prayed so. He had seven days left to find something to present to Critare before she left. But how hard could it be?

All he had to do was pluck pieces of wood out of the grain. He did that all the time at his table. And he just had to be more careful this time when he worked.

He had already been plucking away at a block of wood for hours now, and to him the song bird was shaping out pretty well.

He heard the paddling of little half-ling feet leaving the bunks and on their way to his eating room.

The un-child walked towards Cicero, standing on her toes to see what he was doing. She stood there for a moment before slowly scrunching her nose in confusion.

"Why are you making a slaughter fish?"

"Cicero is not carving a slaughter fish, you foolish night-spawn. He is carving a bird, clearly."

"Well, it looks like a slaughter fish."

Cicero was getting irritated, "It does not."

The un-child was quiet for a moment, "Then why did you give it teeth."

As she left the room, Cicero examined the carving, rolling his eyes. It did not have teeth. The little un-child didn't know what she was talking abo-

"Hm, does have teeth..." he muttered. "Maybe the little monster did..."

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero had been getting sick of the smug and superior looks scales had been throwing at him whenever they passed one another as of late. Ever since the jester had been banned from Critare's training, it was like scales had to rub it in his face that everyone had chose his scaley arse over him. Sure, he could 'do nothing about it,' but that was where greeny was wrong.

"No, Cicero can very much do something about it," he chuckled. "Just not to your faces!"

He was excited, eager to see how the little prank he had set up played out. The jester had done a bit of 'fixing' to scales' chair so that it would collapse the next time it was sat in.

Right now, he was waiting for him to come in as he surveyed the kitchen from up high. He laid on his belly by the top of the wooden stairs leading to the bunks, allowing nothing more than the top of his head to peek past the edge of the floor.

This was going to be so good!

He thought nothing of it when the softy walked into the room while he waited. Not until he sat himself on the fixed chair.

The thing came down right away with a crash. The redgaurd looked up, seeming to know exactly who did it and where they were.

Cicero did not last a moment under the scope of the softy's wordless glare. He slowly inched back, out of the redgaurd's sight.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero sat at his eating table, focused again on another whittling. A squirrel this time.

That was when the un-child came by with the lizard.

"Oh, what are you making now, Cicero?" she asked.

"Let the un-child see for herself," he answered, holding the near-completed carving out to her.

"Huh. You're actually getting better at this."

Cicero swelled with pride.

"That's a really cute mudcrab," she finished before walking away with her dark brother.

"Crab?" Cicero repeated indignantly, looking back and forth between the carving in his hand and the retreating form of the un-child.

Setting the carving down, he slumped back down in his chair. He only had five days left.

~[•|0|•]~

The grey-snob sighed, "When you hold a bow, you must have confidence. The bow is only as lethal as feels the one who weilds it. If you can't believe your capable of killing, you never will."

Rubbed her temples as she assessed all the missed arrows lining the bottom of the back wall, where they had hit the stone surface and fell, clattering to the floor. Some landed a number of feet in front of their intended target. Others landed yards either left or right of it. One or two managed to strike the wooden legs of the blasted thing. But none actually struck through- much less bounced off- the painted burlap bullseye.

Out of all Critare's trainers, pompous was the only which seemed to treat her job wholly as a chore. At least that was how she started behaving after deciding her student wasn't as much fun to belittle as when it was limited to a disguised comment given every now and then. But besides whatever the Pretender or her lackey wanted to believe, Cicero knew Critare had progressed. He admitted that it was slow, but at least after all these weeks she could send the arrow flying when she loosed it.

"But I don't want to kill anyone," Critare whimpered.

"And that's another problem. If your never going to be willing to kill, your bow never will be either. Now try again!"

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero stroked Critare's back, speaking as she laid her head on his shoulder, listening to every word he said. Everynow and then she would sniff, but it was more than clear that Cicero had calmed her down. He was getting much better at this.

As always, the Pretender and berated her again- loudly. She then came running to Cicero after she had been excused. But it was no matter; she was alright now.

"... And Cicero has also heard about a mysterious fish deep in the ocean waters with a great round head and eight arms like snake-tails that can grasp things. It's very smart, they say. And always so strong..."

~[•|0|•]~

Critare's progress in magic was much swifter than that in archery or melee combat. And while she could cast more than enough spells that would have their uses on occasion, she still was having trouble with the destruction and conjuration schools- which she needed to master if she was planning on killing her targets with arcane weaponry.

She and the wizard had been solely focused on this in their last few sessions together. But the extra attention was of to no avail. Critare couldn't even muster so much as a spark to light a candle, much less to summon a spectral wolf. They had tried atronachs and frost and electric magics of course, but with the same sad results.

Right now she was seated with the wizard, who was trying not to lose his patience with her as she failed once again to shoot flames from her hands. Cicero couldn't blame him in a way: seeing the way the whole process went, there was not much else the old coot could do other than repeatedly command her to try casting the spell and watch to see if she did. There was no way to teach the ofen elusive mental dimensions that came with understanding the nature of a spell well enough to cast it. And the old man might as well have been telling Critare to spit skeever from her finger tips.

She could conjure pretty bulbs, sheilds, and auras of light as well as heal cuts and, at this point, other mild wounds. Critare was inconsistent in her success with it, but proved she was capable of casting a veil of invisibility over her if she was focused enough. She even showed a mild capacity in pacifying those around her, while still showing no signs of power to similarly invoke rage or anxiety. Last of all, she demonstrated a capacity to conjure a magic dagger. But again, she had only done this once.

And while Cicero was happy Critare now possessed sufficient means to keep herself from harm, he wanted the assurance of knowing she won't have to do so for long. He wanted for her to have some sort of weapon to save her if she was ever in danger, as a last resort at the very least. She may have been able to summon a dagger on one occasion, but Cicero himself knew that she was far to unwilling to ever use it.

Cicero was beginning to worry that this coming trip she would have to take in order to reach her target would be her last.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero beamed, swelling with pride.

The two were on a walk in the woods together when he recited his favorite joke to Critare- the one about the man and the horker-wife- and she had laughed and smiled at it.

And not just curl her lips, but actually smile- with teeth. He had never seen her do that, not ever! And her laugh was getting better too. It was becoming less faint and more full- as if the breaths were finally catching onto the cords of her voice whenever she laughed. It made Cicero so happy to see her like this.

Now to make her smile even bigger!

"Oh, and Cicero was wanting to let Critare have this," he said as he removed Critare's precious doll from his pocket.

At the sight of it, Critare became immediately apprehensive and backed herself away from Cicero.

"But Astrid said that-"

"Cicero knows what the Pretender said, but he does not care. Critare deserves to have her doll whenever she likes. In the Sanctuary or not in the Sanctuary."

"But Astrid had also said-"

"Cicero knows that the Pretender had also said Critare cannot have her doll unless she does well with training. But Cicero thinks Critare has done well and deserves to have her doll. 'Astrid' just happens to have this medical condition that effects her mind- in addition to the color of her hair. So Cicero doesn't care what she says."

Critare's resolve was breaking, "But what if Astrid sees that the doll is missing? She'll be mad at me."

"Cicero doubts it," he said as he tossed the doll to her. "He'll be sure to return the doll to her cupboard before she notices. And if she finds out anyways, he'll still be happy to take the fall for Critare. After all, Cicero was the one who took the doll."

Critare looked down at the doll she cradled in her arms.

"My baby," she said.

"Hm?"

"My baby... You had said she was my doll. Don't call her my doll. She's not my doll, she's my baby."

Cicero stared at Critare in bewilderment. There was nothing that was at all frightening or commanding about her tone, but still it was the most assertive thing he had ever heard her say.

He nodded, "Critare's baby."

She smiled at this and asked, as always, to see the fish while they were still outside. And, as always, Cicero obliged.

They changed course for the pond they knew was most close by and settled in at it.

"Thank you, Cicero, for giving me more time with my baby," she said as she sat down by the edge of the pond.

Cicero grinned, "Anything at all for sweet Critare."

He laid himself down in the grass, finding a plot shaded enough from the sun. The hold was having an unusual bout of good weather as of late, and it was leaving things so abnormally... bright. As he laid back and thought, he suddenly felt his anxiety return over what he was to give Critare when she left in three days. He was still empty-handed.

No not a song... not enough time... He could try another whittling of course. Maybe this time a bear... had a simple enough shape... Maybe he could go to the city's merchants again. Try his luck there... There had to be one of them which was desperate enough to sell to him... There had to be...

"I just love fishes," Critare sighed.

Cicero sat up slowly. Fishes! Why hadn't he thought of it earlier?

~[•|0|•]~

No later than the moment they set foot back in the Sanctuary, did the Pretender promptly send Critare to her melee training with scales.

Cicero did not mind this in the least though, and even welcomed the opportunity. He hastened around the cave to find a bucket, hurrying out of the Sanctuary as soon as he had one.

Once back at the pond he had went to with Critare only hours earlier, he carefully scooped some of the finger sized fish into the bucket.

He hurried back that same afternoon, feeling like a champion.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero had been looking for Critare. Not for any reason in particular other than to... talk, he supposed. He had been directed to the Pretender's room by the grey-snob. When he saw that the doors to the room were shut, he didn't have to hear it to know what going on inside.

The sound of Critare weeping so helplessly was one of the most terrible of them all, to Cicero. The only sound that was possibly worse, was that of her being beaten. Both were going on in that room at the moment.

Cicero had to leave if he was going to be able to control himself any longer.

He hated it! Not being able to help Critare. He had never wanted to do something about that not-Speaker more than he did now. And yet he couldn't. Not his place. Not if the tide was turned in her favor and it put Mother's safety at risk. No! No! No! No!

Cicero uttered his grievances against the Pretender to the Night Mother as he oiled her, making a quiet, impassioned prayer to her that the woman one day be punished ever so mercilessly for her actions.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero looked around Mother's audience room. The garlands Cicero and Critare had made hung on the walls, still fresh thanks to the preservative potions which the un-child had treated them with.

Everytime he saw them, he couldn't help but admire their beauty. A plant which had a large part in each of them had been a few long and flowering cypress vines which Critare had found the day after they started their project. The vines had not only been the physical foundation of the weaves, but the aesthetic one with their dark leaves and bright red stars. Accompanying them were clusters of red snow berries as well as blossoms of red mountain flowers and this odd, yet lovely, flower Cicero had never seen before which Critare called feather celosia. With every four feet of garland there would be one of two arrangements. The first was of large glowing mushroom caps topped with a pair of generous vines of jazbay grapes, juniper branches, nightshade and blue mountain flowers- put together in such a way as to look like a bowl overflowing with fruit and flowers. The second was a wreath composed of deathbell heads, lavender, sparse purple mountain flower blossoms, and interesting inter-workings of creep cluster. A mature nirnroot was placed inside each wreath which, coupled with the glowing mushroom arrangements, made for a beautiful sight even when the candles were blown out.

Perhaps that was why Cicero couldn't bare to hang his gift to Mother- the dead and dyed spiders crudely strung in a pattern onto a simple line of thread- in the same room.

"Well, this is what Cicero had planned to do for dear Mother... You understand why he can't hang this in your presence, don't you... Deserve so much better than this- like the wreaths. Sweet Critare is so gifted with making such darling things, you know. She herself is pretty, even when she cries. Oh, so pretty. Much like you Mother... Do- do you think that Critare will ever think the same of Cicero?"

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero moaned, looking down at the bucket of fish he had caught, now floating still and lifeless in the water. He held his face to the top of the bucket, holding nothing back from the good-for-nothing traitors which had so shrewdly quit on him.

"Why, fishes? Why? Don't you little fish like Critare? Don't you want to see her smile and be happy? Don't you care at all! For Cicero, perhaps? Why did you all have to die? You could have made Critare so happy! Tell Cicero- why you do you wish to ruin everything? Do you want to see Cicero have nothing to give Critare? Does that make your worthless little fish hearts happy? Answer Cicero! You have left him with only the remainder of today and tomorrow to find a gift for his beloved Critare. Are you happy now? Well, are you?!"

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero was working on yet another whittling. This time of a bear. This time while sitting on top of his cratered meal table.

This time he would get it right for sure!

He was nearly done when the un-child came paddling in, as she always seemed to do right on cue. Cicero made no effort to acknowledge her. The blood-sucking imp had been nothing but trouble for him, so he simply went on carving with intent focus. She quietly went over to examine his carving, appraising it from where she stood at eye level with the thing. She was quiet for a few moments before speaking.

"I've gotta' hand it to you, that's one spot-on cow."

Cicero jumped to his feet, throwing the carving straight to the ground as he shrieked, "It is not a COW!"

~[•|0|•]~

Critare and the softy were going over the most important words Critare would need to know while out on her first contract. Some were just to keep her from walking into potentially dangerous situations. Others, like 'Inn' or 'merchant,' were to keep her from attracting attention by asking questions.

Cicero really didn't pay much attention to what the two went over. The softy was still making his signature glare at Cicero whenever he was given the chance with Critare not looking.

Again, what did behaving Cicero do?

~[•|0|•]~

Late that night, Cicero pressed his ear against the Pretender's door. Everyone but himself may have been invited to this meeting, but that wasn't going to prevent him from having a part in it.

"Let's just get down to business," said the Pretender, from the other side of the door. "Nazir, has Critare memorized the details of her contract?"

"Every last one."

"And her reading?"

"She's memorized the bare minimum of what she'll have to know for this contract."

"Good. Now Gabriella, how has her marksmanship been?"

"Terrible."

"Has she made any progress?"

"She's still every bit as dreadful as when she started."

The jester piped in, "Cicero disagrees. Critare can at least send the arrows flying when she looses them, now."

"Can she aim them?" the Pretender asked.

"Like an old woman in a darkened room," the grey-snob answered. "But yes; she can aim them. She's about as good at archery as she is at throwing daggers."

"Cicero would like to point out that when Critare throws a dagger, she does so with much more force than when she simply swings it. Therefore, Cicero is the better teacher."

"Veezara?" asked the Pretender.

Scales sighed, "She isn't at all comfortable with a weapon in her hand. She holds it out from her like it were a snake. She still swings it too slow and too weakly to be of any harm- as you already knew. And when ever in combat she just turns her face with it held out and hopes someone might fall on it. She can't use a dagger. Period."

"That's quite alright, I wasn't planning on giving her dagger anyways."

"What?!" exclaimed Cicero.

The Pretender ignored him and moved on another 'trainer', "Festus, is this list of spells you gave me correct?"

"Yes, she can do all of them."

"Babette said something to me about being about to conjure a dagger for herself, why is that not on here?"

"She did, but only once. Besides, I had assumed that a magic dagger would be of little use to her... er, having heard of her skill with using a real one."

"Hm... Babette, she knows all your recipes, right?"

"Well, not all of them, but more than what she could possibly ever need to know."

"Then that settles it. Babette, I'll be giving you the list of things that I want sent with Critare. Please, help her pack them."

"Wait! No! Tell Cicero what is planned for Critare! How will she defend herself?"

Cicero heard the muted voice of the grey-snob, from what it sounded like, talking to Critare about something she wanted her to do before she left tomorrow. But then, everyone began to leave the Pretender's room, leaving Cicero without an answer to his concern.

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero hadn't let himself sleep the previous night. He needed to start his day early so he could begin his final chance to make Critare a gift. Today was his last oppurtunity before she left tonight.

From morning 'till evening, he scavenged the woodlands for only the choicest flowers, mushrooms, berries, branches, leaves, and vines. After he decided he had spent enough time searching, he returned to the Sanctuary at about dusk with a basket overflowing with all he had found. He really had no idea what he was going to do for her, and so had thought it best to just gather as many things as he could now and figure out the hard part later.

He ran to the bunks and began quietly riffling through un-child's chest and cupboard of things, failing to find what he searched for after looking a dozen times. Cicero huffed, deciding he would just have to make the best out of the wreath without any twine. He turned on his heel, making to head out of the bunk area, and swore he could have kicked himself at that very moment as he laid eyes on the sought after spool and scissors sitting on top the un-child's nightstand.

Grabbing them, he dashed back to the hallway and came skidding to a halt as soon as he saw Critare and the little monster chatting away at each other.

Too focused on hiding the 'borrowed' items from the two as he cautiously made his way over to them, he hadn't yet noticed the activity the two were presently engaged in or the fact that they were standing by the table holding his basket of things. At least not until after they had greeted him.

"Oh, hi there, Cicero," Critare greeted him warmly with a soft smile. "Look at all these berries and things someone had left here for us."

It was at that moment as she spoke, that he realized Critare was standing with a few mountain flowers in her hands, applying them to the hair of a seated un-child.

Cicero stared as she went on speaking, "It wasn't you, was it?"

Cicero dropped the spool and scissors, grabbing at his head and running out of the Sanctuary, screaming.

~[•|0|•]~

"Dear Sithis, Lord of the Void and Nothingness, why is it so easy to kill a person yet so much harder to find them a proper gift?"

Cicero sighed, looking up at the night sky from where he laid on his back on a length of ruined wall lining the Falkreath graveyard. The sky was partially clear of clouds and mist, leaving the stars unusually visible.

He had tried visiting the markets in Falkreath to make a last minute search for something to give Critare, even though he knew it was after the hour most merchants in the city closed... and their track record of business with him. No one would even answer their doors to poor Cicero.

"Oh, Sithis... please send Cicero a thing which he can give. He only has so many hours left."

"Why are you talking to stars?"

Cicero turned to see a snotty half-ling looking at him oddly. These little brats always seemed to think that his attire somehow meant he was child-friendly or something. Which couldn't be further from the truth.

"Little bratty boys should know better than to come out at night when the vampires and werewolves do."

"My mommy and daddy say they hunt wolves. So I guess that's like hunting werewolves."

"Pfft! Cicero has killed people!"

"No you haven't."

"Argh. Little boy should really scurry along. Cicero is trying to think, here."

"You're not the boss of me."

Cicero rolled his eyes and turned himself, throwing a dagger at the child. Well, not at the child really, but just at the space in front of his feet. The action had its intended affect on the boy, who ran away crying.

The jester looked back at the sky, staring up at it longingly as he went on pleading.

"Please..." he prayed again. "Something. Anything."

Cicero lifted his head again, turning it in the direction of an odd grunting which was coming from the outskirts of the city. He tried to disregard it and returned to his pondering, but after a certain number of minutes without the grunts and snorts stopping, he decided he had had enough of it.

He pulled his dagger from the ground and went off towards the woods.

"Look, Cicero shall only tell you once..."

He trailed off. As soon as he passed around the tree he had spotted the source of the annoyance. A lone pig.

"What is such a fat piggy doing out here all alone at this hour? Cicero thought it had been a person?"

As the pig went on grunting, noising through the patch of weeds it had discovered ignorantly, Cicero was struck with an idea. He turned the hilt of his dagger in his hands as he slowly pondered it.

It seemed presentable, so why not?

Cicero checked his surroundings, making sure no one else was around. The pig could likely belong to someone in the village, and it wouldn't do if he was seen or heard.

No one. All was quiet.

Cicero made a silent prayer of thanks to Sithis before drawing closer to the pig...

~[•|0|•]~

Cicero had been rubbing the gift with a cloth, polishing it's surface to a smooth glow, when he suddenly heard a scream.

It was Critare and, by the sound of it, she was in danger. She had to be! Never in all the time Cicero knew her had she ever made a sound so loud.

"Cicero, help!" she cried.

"Coming, Critare!" Cicero shrieked, already at his feet and bounding in the direction of her screams.

He thoughtlessly followed the screams down the halls and into the corridor leading to one place: the chamber which had been cornered off for Liz, the grey-snob's pet.

"Cicero is coming," the jester shouted as he kicked down the door which opened to Liz's chamber.

Cicero had never seen Liz or heard of what she was, so he couldn't have known better than to assume that the adult frostbite spider he saw touching Critare with it's ugly legs was a monster which had eaten the real pet.

"Fiend!" Cicero shouted, leaping in between the beast and Critare, who cowered against a wall.

Cicero slashed at one of the fiend's legs with his dagger, causing the creature to hiss and back away.

"When will your kind ever learn? Back! Back! Do not dare harm sweet-"

He stopped his raving at the sound of an arrow whizzing past his head.

The man whirled around to glare murderously at the grey-snob who glared back as she knocked another arrow on her bowstring.

"What are you doing, fool! Aim- then fire!"

"I am!" she spat, aiming for his head again.

Critare squeaked and jerked Cicero out of the arrows path just in time.

"You dare loose an arrow at the Keeper?" Cicero shouted, readying himself to pounce at the snob.

The wench put down her bow, instead drawing her dagger and dropping into a pose mirroring Cicero's.

"Stop! Stop!" Critare cried.

The two ignored the girl's pleas and went at each other. Cicero swung his dagger at the elf in an arch while she thrust her's straight at him. He twirled out of her way, changing the angle of his swing enough to just catch her arm with the blade. The wench hissed as the metal cut through her skin.

Both regained their footing again before making to charge earchother, being pulled back as soon as they began to move forward.

"What is going on!" the Pretender yelled.

"Let go of Cicero! Let go!" the jester shrieked as he felt his arms pinned back by the softy and dog.

He saw the same happening to the grey-snob, who was instead being held back by the un-child and Pretender. At least the weren't assuming that it was all him this time.

"What in the name of Mephala are you two fighting about?" the little monster exclaimed.

"Do not ask Cicero! Ask that one," he made to point at the elf across the room from him but was restrained by the dog. "She's the one who started it! Not Cicero."

"Gabriella," asked the Pretender lowly, "what happened?"

"He was attacking Liz."

Cicero scoffed, "Liz? I was attacking the beast which ate Liz! And was about to eat sweet Critare had I not stopped it!"

"You stupid son of a-"

"Gabriella!" the Pretender hissed.

"So, that's it, then?" the mutt asked, beginning to laugh. "You think that the spider ate the pet?"

"Well, of course it did!" Cicero snapped.

The mutt began laughing- laughing at Cicero- driving the jester into a red haze of vision.

He fought against the dog's grip, nearly breaking through it, "Stop it! Stop that laughing!"

"It's true," Critare exclaimed. "I came in here and all I saw was that spider. I didn't see Liz at all. I think- I think the spider ate Liz, Gabriella. I'm sorry..."

"Ugh," the snob groaned. "You idiots! The spider didn't eat my pet- she is my pet!"

"Liz is... a spider?" Critare whispered.

"Well, what did you think it was? A little bunny?" the snobby-snob laughed so snobbishly.

"Something... with fur, maybe... But not a big spider."

Critare hung her head in shame, making Cicero grind his teeth.

"Stop laughing at Critare!"

"Calm down, clown. Or we'll just have to hang on to you longer," said the dog.

Cicero bared his teeth, but said nothing.

The Pretender sighed, "Criatre, you had to push two dead skeevers a-day through Liz's food door for the past few months. What did you think you were feeding?"

Critare shrugged, looking at her feet sadly.

"Are you both telling me you never learned Liz was a frostbite spider?"

Critare shrugged again. Cicero, on the other hand, would have none of it.

"Who in the name of Sithis even keeps spiders for pets, anyways?"

"I don't know," the elf bit back. "Probably the same person who has to live with a guy who keeps a pet corpse."

Cicero was about to retort but softy cleared his throat.

"So, um, Critare," he started. "What happened next then- after you saw Liz?"

Critare lowered her head again before speaking, "She came down from the ceiling. And I started screaming. I- I thought she wasn't the pet. That she was something else."

"You screamed for Cicero?"

Critare nodded.

"Wait," asked the greeny. "Why were you even in Liz's room?"

"Gabriella had asked for me to clean it for her... She said it's always done twice a year."

The softy sighed, "So let me guess, then you," he nudged Cicero, "came in here, knives a'blazing and attacked the spider."

"You mean the dangerous beast Cicero just saved Critare from? Yes."

"She was- touching me," Critare said, "I thought she was going to hurt me."

It was the little monster's turn to sigh, "Liz is harmless, Cri. She wouldn't have hurt you."

"I'm sorry." Critare said.

"So is Liz," the imp commented, looking up at the giant spider lying at the top of the opposite wall, hissing at them all.

"That's right, Critare. You really ought to be sorry," said the Pretender before crossing over to the girl who looked back up at her mistress with worry.

A moment more passed before the Pretender finally raised her hand and briskly smacked Critare across the face with it. Critare gave no response at all other than hanging her head. Cicero fought against the hold of his restrainers, having every intention of cutting the Pretender down where she stood.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Critare," she hissed. "This is inexcusable! Tonight- tonight- you leave and still you don't even have the nerve to keep it together around a little spider. Do you have any idea what would have happened to you if you had screamed like that while on a contract? You would have been imprisoned or killed and your whole family would have been exposed! Do you want that for us, Critare? Do you want us all to die?"

Critare sniffed and shook her head, her lip quivering.

"I certainly hope not! Now go pack your things and be gone! You had better not fail on this first contract, or those guards and jail cells will be the least of your worries."

Critare nodded and ran out of the room.

"Babette, you go with her. Once she's packed, I want her gone."

The un-child did as she was told and the crowd began to break apart afterwards. Cicero and the grey-snob were released, and the softy began to follow the Pretender back to her room. Cicero did as well. He was going to have his piece with that not-Speaker. She was not going to treat his Critare so wrongly any longer.

He angrily paced outside her bedroom door, half-listening to the conversation with in.

"The poor girl's already disturbed enough as it is, Astrid," said the softy. "Do we really need to send her off to kill someone?"

"She'll live!"

"That's not what I'm talking about! This is something she really doesn't want to do. She's been crying for hours into the night these past few days!"

"She always cries, Nazir."

"Not like this. And you know what I've been trying to tell you. Whatever ounce of sanity she has left is gonna' get crushed if we send her out! Look, there's still time to change this, I'll even volunteer-"

"Are you questioning my decisions as a leader? Your leader?"

"Damn it, Astrid! Everyone makes mistakes!"

"Sure they do. But this isn't a mistake."

Softy sighed, "Come now, Astrid. What is this about; pride?"

"This is about business! I have no need for pride. I know what I am, and that is someone who can remake people. You are an example of this yourself- or have you forgotten what you once were, Nazir? No one who's ever been taken under my wing, have I failed to transform. I've accomplished it every time in the past, and I will be successful now! I do it all on my own, with no help or guidance and..."

The Pretender went on with her rant as the little monster and Critare passed Cicero in the halls, on their way to the door leading out of the Sanctuary.

"Wait," he said, "Critare is leaving already?!"

The un-child rolled her eyes, "Duh, why else would we be going this way?"

"Argh!" Cicero ran off to his room.

~[•|0|•]~

"Wait, Critare! Wait!" Cicero called out.

Critare did as she was asked and turned to look at the jester bounding over to her as if he had moments to live. They were outside the Sanctuary a number of hours after midnight. He took her hands in his, looking into her eyes earnestly.

"Cicero wanted to say good-bye to Critare," he said, embracing her. "And- and he wanted to ask her to be careful."

"I will," she whispered.

Cicero gulped.

"Cicero... was also wanting to give Critare something before she went..."

Cicero took a deep breath, pulling out the cloth-wrapped gift and placing it in Critare's purple-hued hands.

"For you," he said.

Cicero held his breath as Critare carefully removed the cloth, uncovering a pretty heart shining softly red in the moonlight.

"A heart," she said.

Cicero nodded nervously.

Critare looked at her gift hesitantly, "Cicero... did this come from a person?"

Cicero left out a breath. What had he been thinking? A pig's heart? He had had plenty of people in the city whose heart's he could have harvested- and he ended up giving her just some plain, filthy pig's? He had ruined everything.

Cicero wrung his hands uneasily.

"Cicero- Cicero has something to confess to good, honest, thoughtful Critare..."

"Confess?" Critare quirked her head to the side.

Cicero exhaled once more, "That is not a human's heart that he gave her. It is a pig's heart. B-but don't worry now! Let Cicero go get Critare a real heart. She deserves a real one."

Cicero snatched the heart away from Critare, fleeing away from her. He had blown it!

"Cicero?" Critare called after him, hopelessly confused with what had just occured.

---

Thanks to everyone for all their support and reviews! They make my day.

We're now half-way through this story. Six more to go from here, friends!

That said, I have some sad news. This week, knowing my schedule, I'd say that it's very unlikely that I'll be able to return to my normal 7-10 update period- at least for this week. So I wouldn't say to expect one. I'm really sorry guys. I really am. :(

What had been your favorite part in this chapter?

Thanks for reading and please review!